Thresholds

After my bumpy ride last week, I have been somewhat hesitant to sit back down with my laptop and peck away at my keyboard. I had the best of intentions to work Friday morning while Devon was at preschool but my attention span, never a strong suit of mine, kept straying. On a whim I typed my father’s name into Google and came up with a few of the articles about his death. We have the newspapers tucked away somewhere in a box and some people had mentioned that they read some of them online, but I have not yet been able to look at them. I read one and broke down into tears. Somehow seeing the facts there in print made it all that much more real, as if packing away his clothes and not having him here for 3 1/2 months was not already real enough. I then switched the search to images and up came a few pictures of him. It was so devastating that I decided to clean rather work.
I then went to visit the dermatologist. It was not at all the sort of experience I had envisioned. I knew I had some bad news spots on my face and I was expecting a sensitve, understanding doctor who would calmly explain to me that due all of those many sunburns I had as a teen I would need estensive surgery of some sort. Instead I got the used car salesman of dermatology. Perhaps it is a new angle in the skin care field. The nurse was mentioning a line of skin care products I could purchase before the doctor ever showed his face in the room. And speaking of his face, I have never seen a more beautful head on a person -man or woman. There was not a single pore to be seen. He had no red spots or discolorations of any kind. He was a goregous golden tan. And his eye region? As smoothe and carefree as Devon’s butt. It didn’t move or wrinkle in any way whatsoever. He was so Botoxed that he looked like a waxed Adonis. Frankly, it was a bit creepy. He went to work right away on my face, poking and prodding. In less than two minutes he explained to me that I had a someting-a-tosis on my forehead and some sort of such-and-such-a-something on my nose. The forehead spots were not a huge deal but the nose areas were a bit iffy, they would lead to cancer and bad things if I didn’t do something about them IMMEDIATELY. But right after mentioning the C word, without even inhaling, he launched into the various peels and laser therapy sessions that would clear up the unsightly redness in my cheeks and help to even out my skin tones. He then mentioned the skin care line, had me sign a bunch of forms and asked me if I was ready. “For what?”, I asked.
“To have the Tosis spots on your nose frozen off and the Kerea-somethings on your forehead to be injected with an electric needle. Then you can go upstairs and make an appointment to have the laser therapy sessions.”, he replied with nary a trace of expression.
“Well, do I need any of it? Are these preventative therapies or cosmetic? And are they covered by insurance?”
He sighed, I had obviously asked the wrong questions. “Today’s treatments of the freezing and electric needle will prevent your spots from developing into full on cancerous regions. They will be covered by insurance. The laser treatments are $175 to $300 per session and you will likely need at least six sessions.”
“And do I NEED those? Are they covered?”
“Uh, well, ” and he would have frowned here if he had the ability, “no, not too likely. But they would really help you and you would be thrilled with outcome.”
So we headed to the Procedures Room where he proceeded to freeze a spot on my arm and both sides of my nose. After that came the drill. Holy fuck. As if having liquid nitrogen spayed on my face was not enough of hell, having a drill inserted into my forhead about 15 times was the icing on the cake. After he was done he remembered that he hadn’t gotten to the spot on my thigh. I asked if it was cancerous ou would ever lead to ANYTHING at all bad. When he told me no, I told him to stay the hell away from my leg. I was in pain enough already and really, if I am to be honest with myself, nobody is likely to see my inner thighs any time in the near future. When he finished he mentioned I might blister or ooze from my nose but that all would be good. All is not good. Both sides of my nose are alternately coated in oozing goo or crust. It something between a garden of raised whiteheads and boogers gone wrong. Not a pretty sight when all is said and done.
Later in the day I took Cassidy, her friend Emily and Devon to the pool for a swim. Devon was thrilled to have company during our dip. He jumped off the ladders and giggled as the girls threw a ball back and forth. As we were leaving I stopped at the front desk to pick up the contents from my father’s locker. he had the same locker for over 20 years. Carrying out his various work out clothes and toiletries, it was all I could do to hold my head up and not fall to the floor crying. The girls were dancing about and Devon was singing so I held my head high and tucked the bag into the trunk.
All in all it was a day of yucky things with a silver lining. And it seems that is what so much of this grieving period is all about: happy twinkies with a filling of tears and pain. I hope it someday passes. That I will be able to sit at the computer without the temptation to pick at a sobbing scab. That I can take my children out for fun without wanting to cry when they aren’t looking. That I will again feel lighthearted.